


Worth the Wait

by ArgentLives



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 02:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/pseuds/ArgentLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things that don't dull over time, and some people you never stop missing.</p><p>[After months of being apart, Finn and Rey are finally reunited]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the events at the end of TFA; a take on Finn and Rey seeing each other for the first time again after being apart. WARNING: SUPER CHEESY. Also probably inaccurate use of the force, but I tried?

She exits the Falcon on shaky legs, every inch of her body sore and her heart heavier than it’s ever been. It’s a miracle she doesn’t collapse the moment she’s on solid ground—she almost does, but the pair of strong arms that wrap around her, silently communicating both their grief and their comfort, keep her standing. She hears the sharp inhale-and-exhale of breath from the person she hugs back with all the strength she’s got left, and although she can’t see her face she can feel how hard General Organa is struggling to hold herself together, and she knows that this embrace isn’t just for her.  

The general’s arms around her are nice, and comfortable, and reassuring, but they’re still not the ones she needs or wants. Those arms, that hug, belongs to a boy who’s still unconscious, still recovering, and she’s so used to being on her own that she never imagined she could miss someone else’s touch this much. If he were with her right now, she would even let him hold her hand, no questions asked. Hell, she might even be the one to initiate it.

 _He’ll be okay,_ she thinks, letting out a shaky breath, because he has to be. _He’ll wake up in no time._

He doesn’t.

At least not in time for her to leave for her mission to find Luke. She drags out her goodbye as long as she can, hoping that maybe, miraculously, just as she’s turning to leave he’ll open his eyes or return the pressure on her hand, tangle his fingers with her own, and she won’t feel so alone anymore, she’ll know without a doubt she’ll be coming home to someone who cares. It’s a vain hope, and his eyes stay shut, his breathing even and his hand limp in hers, and she knows with a sinking clarity that there are things she has to do and places she has to go no matter how much she wishes she could take him with her. And so she leaves with a promise on her lips and pressed against his skin, and she lets herself believe that something changes in his expression. That he can hear her, somehow.

They’ll see each other again. She’ll make sure of it.

 

* * *

 

 

Because the universe, or the force, or whatever, is apparently _not_ with him, he wakes the very day after she leaves, so by the time he opens his eyes again she’s already half-a-galaxy away.

There are days when he finds himself missing her so much, it leaves him lying awake late at night, wondering if she’s safe, and happy, when he’ll see her again, and if she feels this way, too. He doesn’t have to wonder long, because there are nights where he’ll be tossing and turning, trapped in this nightmare or that—his time in the First Order, his time running away, his time fighting back, _Rey being captured_ —when suddenly the images that leave him shaking and shivering and waking up in a cold sweat are transformed into something much calmer, like the water in a lake or the wind blowing through trees or even things and forces of nature he’s never seen before, images and memories he knows aren’t his own. And then he’ll feel a pressure on his hand, imaginary but somehow still there, and he knows this is her way of letting him know she’s okay, and he’ll be okay, and that she’s thinking of him, too, no matter how far apart they may be.

He wonders how she’s doing it, and if it’s part of what Luke must be teaching her, and wishes with everything in him that he could have his questions answered firsthand, that he could be there with her right now, wherever she is. He’d barely even known her, and yet he misses her so much it’s like someone stole a piece of his heart and just won’t give it back. That’s not all true, though, he realizes. He might not have known her long, but he knows her better than he’s known any person before, and he supposes the first person to make him feel like she has was always bound to leave their mark.

 _She’ll come back,_ he thinks, absently running a hand over his forehead as though chasing a phantom touch. _She has to._

She does.

He’s sleeping when she gets back, but it’s a shallow, fitful sleep. He’s been doing his best to wait up all night for the past week and a half now, ever since he heard that her ship was en-route back here. Not home, exactly, neither of them really have one of those anymore, but back where he is, where he’s been waiting. Making himself useful, sure, and helping with the Resistance, but waiting nonetheless. And hey, he sort of _is_ a big deal in it, now. He can’t wait to tell her, if she hasn’t already heard.

A soft pressure on his hand makes him stir, his eyelids fluttering open the slightest bit at the touch, and at first he almost writes it off, assumes he’s just imagining it, or that it’s just another comforting message she’s sending him through the force, letting him know she’ll be there soon.

But then the hand around his tightens, and he hears his name, spoken in a voice he’s been aching to hear so much it’s like he’s been starved of it. His eyes fly open and there she is, sitting at his bedside, and he doesn’t care how she found him, how she got inside, because all that matters is that she’s there and she’s there and she’s there and the hand holding his is solid and _real_ , as real and as beautiful as the girl in front of him now.

They’ve both aged a little, both look a little older than their years, not nearly so much from the months that have passed as from the things that they’ve seen, the lessons they’ve learned. Him in the resistance, her with…whatever it is she’s been up to, and he’s suddenly bursting to hear all about her adventures, to know what she knows, to hear her talk, and talk, and talk, all the while buzzing with excitement at the simple, beautiful fact that now he can.

She smiles at him, a little uncertain but still bright and wide and all soft around the edges, and he thinks it’s a crime that this is the first time he’s noticing that she’s got dimples in her cheeks, that he hasn’t gotten to see this side of her, before. His answering smile must be enough to break the ice, because the last bit of uncertainty melts from her eyes and she laughs, and the sound is like music. It makes his smile grow wider and his chest warm and he’s not even sure which one of them moves first, just knows that one moment there’s space between them and the next moment there’s not, and her arms are around him and he’s hugging her back just as tight. All this time, she’s been the one travelling, and he’s been stuck here in the same place, and yet with her laughter in his ears and her smile against his neck, he feels he’s finally where he’s supposed to be.


End file.
